The Detective's Daughter
by TaylorInPonderland
Summary: Even the amazing Sherlock Holmes has skeletons in his closet. A young lady named Johanna Barton is about to change Holmes and Watsons lives forever, but in different ways. Some John/OC. No Mary and after Irene's death
1. Chapter 1

**Wooo! New story and first ever Sherlock Holmes fic :D **

**It's narrated by Watson, so staying kind of true to the original stories. I hope you guys like it. I mean, Holmes having a child was always going to be a bit OOC but I'm trying my hardest! I know some people also don't like OCs so I'm warning you now that there will be a LOT of them. My stories always have OCs and I'm usually very proud of the characters I create. Oh, and it's rated T just to be safe because I don't really know exactly how this will play out yet. **

**Obviously, I do not own the world of Sherlock Holmes though and I owe everything I know to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Guy Ritchie and some amazing performances by RDJ and Jude Law. **

**Enjoy! **

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><p>If I were to offer a single piece of advice from my years living with and assisting Mr. Sherlock Holmes, it would be that one must always be prepared for anything. However, on the morning that I first heard of Johanna Barton, I had clearly forgotten to follow my own recommendation.<p>

In truth, the morning started in the most usual way, with the two of us taking breakfast in our home on Baker Street. The detective was reasonably quiet but I had put this down to his mind being occupied by the particulars of a case. As I was soon to discover, this was not true in the least.

"I suppose I should advise you," Holmes began, not even looking up from the morning paper, "That I shall be having a young lady visitor in the coming week." He spoke as one might when making a casual comment about the nature of the weather.

"I beg your pardon?" I replied, thinking I might have heard wrong. Technically, we had female visitors all the time but these all related specifically to cases in which Holmes was occupied. Never in all my time living with him had a woman arrived for an extended stay, or had he felt the need to warn me of one's imminent arrival.

Holmes repeated himself again calmly, this time meeting my eye. "Within the next week, a young lady shall arrive and she may require an extended stay with us here. Is there some part of this that is particularly confusing to you, Watson?"

"The young woman part, I suppose," I shrugged, ignoring the fact that my intelligence was clearly being insulted. While what Holmes was trying to tell me was apparently blatantly obvious to him, it certainly wasn't to me. In my expert knowledge, Holmes was devoid of sisters, nieces or even a youthful aunt who could account for our guest being a relative. It also seemed rather unusual for him to offer a client room in our house. Even stranger was the idea that he was courting someone, given the downright disdain he had shown towards the female gender in the past and the fact that he was hardly the youthful character he had been when we were first introduced. "Please explain," I continued, showing my ignorance, "Because I really have no idea what you are trying to tell me."

He folded his paper, sighing, "I knew it would have to come out eventually." It seemed as though what he was about to divulge pained him a great deal. "Several days ago I received a letter and quite an extraordinary one at that. It was from an eighteen year old woman named Miss Johanna Barton and it was unlike any other piece of correspondence I have laid eyes on in my work to date. In Miss Barton's letter she provides evidence to substantiate her claim to being..." he paused, "my daughter."

I spat my coffee across the table and down the front of my companion out of pure shock. The thought of Holmes having offspring seemed about as likely as Gladstone being named Prime Minister. "Surely you're joking!" I exclaimed, thunderstruck.

"No, I am not," he replied, rather calmly considering, "If you will allow me to explain..."

"Please do!" I interjected angrily; shocked that he would keep something like this from me for so long a time.

Holmes sighed, that pained look returning to his dark features once more. "Alright, but I hope you will not think less of me Watson, once you hear the details of the affair- if it can even be called that. I was very young and, to this day, I still consider what I did to be an act of charity."

"_Charity?" _I cried, hardly believing my ears. "Only you would be able to find reason to dub fathering a child out of wedlock as such."

"While that may be the plain fact of the matter, you will agree, once you hear my tale, that there were indeed extenuating circumstances. Allow me to explain," he repeated, launching into his story once more.

"I can't have been older than seventeen when this tale begins. Like so many youths, I was using the time between completing school and beginning university to take a travelling holiday around Britain. The events leading to the conception of Miss Johanna Barton, however, start specifically in the small but wealthy town of Bradbury in Berkshire.

I was staying in the White Horse Inn in the main street of the town, but this is really of no consequence. While in Bradbury, I had two main indulgences of interest: one- the exquisite scenery and two- the library belonging to the local parish and school which has long been overlooked as one of the best in the county. It just so happened, however, that I was not the only one interested in doing some holiday reading.

For the first three days I spent in that library, it was also occupied by a young woman named Catherine Barton, on the fourth day she was daring enough as to speak to me. While I have rarely found a member of the fairer sex that I have been able to maintain a conversation with, Miss Catherine was, for the most part, reasonably pleasant. She had a keen interest in geology and I was impressed with her aptitude. We swapped pleasantries during our studies over the next few days and I quizzed her about life in the district. As she gave me this information, details of her own personal life were slowly divulged.

She was the daughter of James Barton, the town's only doctor. Her father had a reasonable bit of land, due to his lineage but, of course, this must fall to a male heir. Try as her parents no doubt did, Catherine was their only child and the estate seemed destined to belong to the doctor's younger brother and, eventually, said brother's sons. Nevertheless, the doctor loved his daughter dearly and wished to provide for her future; he set out to do what any father in such a position would do and found Catherine what he considered to be an adequate husband.

While I hardly had the developed skills of deduction I have today, it was no mystery from the way she spoke about him that Catherine was terrified of her intended. His name was Henry Shackle and his family were part of the noveau rich, after his father had moved up in the steel industry at the right time. Unlike his father, the younger Shackle had never done a hard day's work in his life and had grown up privileged and, frankly, nasty. It was in the back of the library, after I had been sworn to secrecy, that Catherine let me see the scars that marred her arms and the backs of her legs, before bursting into tears. Apparently, Miss Barton had resisted Shackle's romantic advances during their courtship and early engagement and he had taken it upon himself to literally beat her into submission using a cane. She refused to go to her father out of some misguided, childish fear of failing him and seeming ungrateful. Disgusted by this injustice, I offered to go to Doctor Barton myself but she tearfully begged me not too.

Convinced there must be a way out for the poor girl, I tried to logically take her through the options she had, yet nothing seemed to present itself. Catherine seemed convinced that the only way Shackle would break off their engagement would be to save his reputation if he found out she was no longer a virgin or something equally as scandalous. This seemed unlikely to happen, however, considering she most definitely was one and her father being a medical man, would know for sure she was lying. It was a serious problem and as I departed the library that day, I wished there was some way I could help her.

As fate would have it, Henry Shackle was also staying at the White Horse that night. It was the only time I have ever had the misfortune of having to lay eyes on the man and I hope I never have to again. He would have had a handsome face, were his features not marred by a sense of false-entitlement.

As far as I knew he had not seen Miss Barton that day, with the Ascot Racecourse no doubt being what had drawn him to the district. Catherine had confided to me that Shackle had already blown a fair amount of his inheritance on the track, severely diminishing the fortune Doctor Barton thought he was providing for his daughter with. I had no doubt, even then, that it was the dowry Barton had been willing to provide with Catherine that had caught his interest in the first place; since he clearly showed nothing resembling love towards her. He confirmed this when I later saw him soliciting the services of a prostitute from my bedroom window.

I recall pulling my curtains shut in anger. The thought of a lady as decent as Miss Barton being married to this brute (and more than likely catching a venereal disease from him) was more than I could bear. I vowed to return to the library the next morning, ready to do anything to aid Catherine's escape from him, even if I had to –as revolting as the notion seemed- deflower her myself.

I had expected and, I daresay, hoped she would refuse me but it was a sign of her desperation that she accepted. I am not proud of what I did and the only way I could get through it was to think of it as a scientific experiment of sorts.

I will spare you the gruesome specifics, Watson but only say that it took place in the hayloft at the back of her father's estate and was uncomfortable for all involved. Still, Miss Barton now stood a chance of freeing herself from Shackle's clutches and, even if it meant she never married, we had probably saved her life. I, quite cowardly is retrospect, left Bradbury the next day for my own safety, however, I am assured that Catherine's engagement was broken off once she made her shocking confessions to Shackle and her parents quickly forgave her for both their great love for their daughter and their reputation in the town. "

"How?" I asked, still not really understanding where Miss Johanna Barton came into this.

"The younger Miss Barton's letter covered almost everything I have been wondering for the past eighteen years," said he, pulling an open letter from his jacket pocket and flicking down onto the table. "You made read it, if you like."

Still apprehensive, I picked up Miss Barton's letter and began to read.

_Dear Mr. Holmes, _

_I have wanted to write this letter to you for some time, however, I admit it has not come easily. _

_Perhaps, I should introduce myself first. My name is Johanna Barton, a last name which is no doubt familiar to you. Up until recently, I believed my parents to be Dr. James Barton of Bradbury and his wife, who I believe you will have heard of. It may also interest you to know that I am eighteen years of age. _

_About six months ago, my older maiden sister Catherine fell ill with a serious bout of influenza. Despite my father's best effort, her decline was rather quick and before we knew it, Catherine was on her deathbed. My sister's final act was to have me brought to her bedside, where I learned from her that what I had believed to be my own personal history up until this point had been completely false. I was not, as I had always been told, born in the house I call home but rather a secluded part of the French countryside. Dr and Mrs. Barton were not the loving parents I had adored but rather my grandparents and my beloved Catherine was, in fact, my mother._

_As surprised as I was, the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. The strange looks I had gotten from townspeople, the comments I was either too young or too naive to understand. As much as I begged Catherine to tell me, she would not reveal the identity of my biological father, although she did give me the details of your association; knowing me, I think she believed I would locate you and contact you eventually. She never forgot you; you got her out of quite a dangerous situation. She explained to me that her former fiancé, Henry Shackle, had been payed off by my father to leave Bradbury and never breathe a word of her supposed "disgrace" to anyone, ultimately preventing a life of abuse (a small detail my parents are still unaware of.) _

_Catherine refused to reveal your personal identity, only saying you were a "criminal investigator of some renown". After my sister's death, I launched an investigation of my own (ironic, I know), for the elusive man who had saved her and given me life. I started with anyone of note in Scotland Yard but failed to find anyone who had known my mother, never mind been in Bradbury at the time of my conception. While that may sound simple, this was rather a lengthy process that has taken me several months. I was feeling dejected, until one morning a few weeks ago when I sat down with my father for breakfast. He was holding up the front page of the morning newspaper and there you were, or, as I saw it at that time, my own two eyes staring back at me. When my father tired of it, and left the dining room to pursue the rest of his day, it was only a matter of taking the evidence back to my room and reading enough to give some claim to my suspicions. A week of supposed "charity work" in the same library where you and my sister had met allowed me to check the visitor's books and check-out records in the back of each published work, proving you had been in Bradbury at the time. _

_As far as I can see all signs point to the fact that I am-for want of a better word- your daughter. I do not want to pressure you, but the ball is now in your court, so to speak. I am aware it will be a shock to the system but I long for a reply, preferably one where you will express an interest in meeting me._

_Kindest possible regards, _

_Johanna Barton_

I may not have wanted to admit it, but everything did add up. From what I could see, this young lady really was the daughter of Sherlock Holmes. Even stranger was that she would soon be in this very room, endeavouring to get to know her father. I wished her the very best of luck, for he was not the easiest man to get along with and did not have a manner that, I believed, would endear him to potential offspring.

"What did you do?" I asked, still trying to take it all in.

"I did the only thing I could do, Watson," he shrugged, "I invited her to stay." He still wore that pained expression but he at least seemed relieved to be able to be honest with me. "She is not going to go away, simply because her existence may be...problematic to me."

Problematic was right; Holmes room was always in a state of complete disarray, hardly the sort of lifestyle she would be used to. I had half a mind to write to her myself and advise her to put herself up in a hotel or, if worst came to worst; I could envision myself offering to sleep on the sofa.

No matter the sleeping arrangements, what remained was that the arrival of Johanna Barton was going to be life changing for the both of us, though at that moment, I could not have estimated how much.

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><p><strong>AN: So what did we all think? I hope there's no horrendous typos and that this all makes sense (I think I noticed a small plot-hole in retrosect but let's just all ignore that shall we...it was necessary.) Probably shouldn't have said that but oh well! I'm going to start the next chapter soon; now that all this background is out of the way, we can really get going :) **

**Also, the town of Bradbury is fictional. I decided to make one up, instead of using a real place and getting its history completely wrong. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Johanna has finally arrived and what does this mean for our two favourite Baker St. residents? Let me know what you think, guys! **

**Obviously, I do not own the world of Sherlock Holmes and I owe everything I know to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Guy Ritchie and some amazing performances by RDJ and Jude Law. **

**Enjoy!**

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><p>Johanna Barton's imminent arrival had everybody in 221B Baker St on their toes. Mrs. Hudson hadn't been told quite the whole truth- I'm still not sure of the specifics. She was made aware that some form of relation was visiting but I hardly think she would have ever guessed at the girl's true identity.<p>

It seems wrong to refer to her as "the girl" because Johanna came to be so much more than that, for both Holmes and myself, but a good story must be told in order and I don't think even he could have predicted the way in which things would play out. The day she arrived it was raining and I will always remember that; it was almost a metaphor for what was about to befall us all. Yes, we were about to be thrust into the figurative thunderstorm of the most personal and frustrating case of our lives but, like the rain, this too, would pass. But, for now, I will stick to the events immediately preceding and caused by Johanna's arrival.

To both Mrs. Hudson's and my horror, Holmes absolutely refused to clean up or even organise anything in his room. "If she can't accept me for who I am," announced, sitting in the middle of his little cave of organised chaos, "Then I'm afraid we can't continue this relationship any further." I rolled my eyes and went back to pacing up and down the room, as I had been previously.

I don't know why _I _was so nervous; Holmes was showing no sign of any such uneasiness. In fact, he had stayed virtually silent all day. I really hadn't the faintest idea what to expect of Johanna Barton and was worried about Holmes behaviour- he rarely took to new people well or even grew found of them in time, especially where women were concerned. Ever since the arrival of her letter, I had been trying to picture what she would look like I my mind but couldn't seem to get past a ridiculous image of Holmes in a dress with long flowing hair.

"That will be her, unless I am much mistaken," my companion said, as I heard the sound of a cab carriage coming to a stop. I stopped pacing like a madman and dusted off my jacket- a reflex action. Holmes, on the other hand, did nothing, refraining from even standing up.

"I'll just get that, shall I?" I asked sarcastically, as a sharp knock sounded upon the door. Not even waiting for a response, I strode over turned the knob, suddenly aware that I was revealing to both of us the woman who had preoccupied both our thoughts for the past week, if not longer in Holmes' case.

And suddenly there she was, our eyes meeting for the very first time. Of course, I couldn't help but look for the resemblance between Holmes and her right away but was surprised when I found very little. There was something reminiscent of my friend, obviously- the eyes and the dark features perhaps- but there something completely different as well, a sense of warmth that was apparent to me immediately.

"Doctor Watson, I presume?" she said and I had to admit that perhaps there was more of a similarity than I had originally thought.

"How did you know?" I asked, becoming aware that I had probably been standing there staring for longer than was polite.

Her mouth turned up into half a smile. "When I found out about Mr. Holmes, I read almost everything about his work that I could. Your name is often right next to his, you know."

"Oh," I replied, realising how stupid I had been, "Of course." The sound of Holmes clearing his throat brought me crashing back to Earth. "Please," I implored, finally stepping aside, "Come in."

Turning around, I realised Holmes was now out of his chair and standing to attention. Seeing the two, father and daughter, standing face-to-face, was really something.

"Well," the young woman began, placing her two suitcases down either side of her, "Here I am, at last." If it weren't for the obvious family characteristics between the two, she would have almost looked out of place in our somewhat shabby residence, wearing a powder blue dress that appeared to have been tailored to her specifically. Hanging from her neck was a large gold locket on a long chain.

Holmes was endeavouring to hold himself together but I, who possibly knew him better than anyone, could see he was overwhelmed. Displays of emotion from him were such a rarity that I had been worried that seeing Johanna for the first time would cause him a mental breakdown, or at least prompt him to flee from the situation. However, the thing about Sherlock Holmes was that he never ceased to surprise me. He extended his hand in greeting to the young beauty.

"Johanna," he said decidedly, as if confirming to himself that her existence was indeed legitimate. "It's a pleasure to meet you." His mouth was smiling but his eyes showed hints of fear he was clearly trying to suppress. "Sit down, my dear; we have much to talk about."

It occurred to me then that this was well and truly a family gathering. A father sitting down to converse with his daughter hardly seemed like the sort of thing I should interrupt so, I remained exactly where I was. I was seconds away from turning around to leave the room, when Holmes added, "You sit down too, Watson." Perhaps he did not want to be alone, after all.

"Yes...alright," I responded, quickly making my way to the only available chair. I could hardly refuse my dearest friend in what was his hour of need.

Miss Barton sat in a way that benefited the excellent upbringing that she had, no doubt, been provided with. Straight-backed and alert, with her hands resting delicately in her lap, she faced Holmes with eager eyes. Despite this, she said nothing, instead, waiting for him to speak.

It seemed Holmes had no interest in making the first move in the conversation either. I believe it was out of desperation at the poor girl's, to him, unjustified interest that he said. "Well, Johanna, you should start by telling us everything we ought to know about you." Why I had been dragged into this, as if I had some right to know the explicit details of the lady's life, I was not sure.

Johanna's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Evidently, this was not the welcome she had been expecting. One could hardly blame her though; any other childless man would have probably welcomed his long-lost offspring with open arms. "There isn't much to tell, Sir," she explained, "Besides what I have already told you in my letter. My life was positively dull before my sister's illness and subsequent confession." Holding her hands out, palms up, as if she had nothing more to offer, she said, "Everything you think you know about yourself isn't really true once you've had your identity called into question." Her eyes flickered back down to her lap momentarily. "I'd much rather hear about you, if that's an option."

Holmes looked as though he was considering this, when she quickly added, "Not that I'm turning my back on my parents, of course. They have raised me to the best of their ability and I love them dearly."

"Do they know you are here?" my companion asked. Whether he truly wanted to know this or was just dodging having to present any information about his own life, I was not sure. During the time I had known him he had revealed hardly anything about his life prior to our meeting.

"No," she admitted, but with no trace of guilt, "In London yes, but as to my specific location, no." It seemed a dangerous lie to have to tell, in my opinion. "They think I am staying with an aunt. It was necessary, Mr Holmes. They do not know about you and even if they did, my father would fret at the idea of me so much as walking in London without the adequate supervision of a family member."

"I'm sure he has his reasons," I offered, feeling I might as well contribute something. If I had a daughter, particularly one so beautiful, and had read about the nature of crime in London, I would have similar fears.

"In all truth, Doctor," replied she, "I am the reason. I see that know."

Embarrassed, I offered nothing else and allowed Holmes to dominate once more.

"What of your aunt though? Is she still expecting you?"

"No," the young lady explained, "I wrote to her yesterday saying I would be unable to make it, a detail I chose not to share with my parents."

"What if she chooses to write back to you?"

"In the letter, I said I would be occupied for some time and would have little to no chance to read or write. I will be passing a similar message on to my parents tomorrow, lest they should try to contact me at my aunt's home."

"Well," said he, clearly somewhat surprised, "That seems to be in order. If you have nothing else to say, I cannot force you."

The young woman then, rather bravely in my opinion, piped up, "I'd still much rather hear more about you, Mr. Holmes."

In the moment it took Holmes to formulate a reply, I couldn't help but feel the tables had turned, or at least, tilted slightly. She was almost his perfect match and if it hadn't been for the sense of kindness I had perceived in her at the door, I would daresay she would make one hell of a criminal.

"I am afraid, Miss Barton," Holmes shot back, but still in a most friendly manner, "That we are much in the same boat. Truthfully, there is not much to tell of interest that you would not have been able to read already and the only recent development in it has been, well...," he gestured across towards her, "You."

The lady that she was, Johanna couldn't help but smile at this. "You are very kind to say so." Looking around the room, she added, "Although, I am sure we will find more to ask each other throughout my stay."

"I promise we shall never run out of conversation topics from this moment on," Holmes declared. He immediately turned to me, "Watson- why don't we hear about you now?"

I was taken off-guard. How could he really think it was fair to reveal nothing about himself to his own daughter but to have me recount my life story step-by-step?

"No, no!" I declined, waving the suggestion off. "It hardly seems appropriate."

"Nonsense!" my friend exclaimed, "You live here too. Besides," he added, much to my embarrassment, "Decorated war hero turned medical extraordinaire; I'm sure young ladies love that sort of thing."

I could feel my face turning red, even if I couldn't see it. "There will be time later, I'm sure."

"Actually," Holmes rebutted, pulling out his pocket-watch, "There's really no time like the present. It would certainly fill in the little time we have before dinner."

"Oh please, Doctor!" the lady joined in, turning those eager eyes upon me.

It appeared I had been backed into a corner. "Alright," I relented, "But it really isn't as interesting as he's making out."

"Oh please," my friend scoffed, looking between me and the girl who now had one arm up upon the side of the chair and her head resting in her hand, looking straight at me, "You're fascinating."

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><p><strong>AN: Hope no one's disappointed! I sort of wanted to make this chapter longer, kind of blending in what I'm going to start Chapter 3 with but, looking back, I think this is the best place to break. Just a word of warning, Holmes will be taking a short leave of absence in the next chapter but don't worry, he'll be right back in time for things to get dramatic. It will just give Johanna and Watson some time to get to know each other, that's all ;) **

**Keep reading and reviewing like you have been :) You guys are so sweet. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry it's taken so long to get this up but i've been busy, making the most of my uni holidays and all that. This chapter is quite long though, so hopefully that makes up for the wait. I notice quite a few of you have put this story on alert or on your favourites though, which is lovely so thank you for that. Remember to review though, so I actually know what you think. **

**Once again, I own nothing apart from Johanna. **

**Enjoy!**

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><p>The morning after Johanna's arrival, the house was awoken by a furious knock upon the front door. Naturally, I sprang out of bed, throwing on my coat and headed downstairs to find out the source of the noise myself, however, upon entering the hall, I could see that Holmes was already up and well ahead of me. Mrs. Hudson also bustled out of the kitchen moments later, headed towards the door also.<p>

As I descended the top step as hastily as I could for so early in morning, Holmes pulled the door back to reveal Inspector Lestrade on our stoop.

"Lestrade, my good man," Holmes greeted him, stepping back and gesturing for the inspector to enter. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your company this morning?"

Now that Holmes had turned, I could see that the rims of his eyes were red; he had not slept, lost in his thoughts, no doubt. It was of no interest, however, to Mrs. Hudson, who-seeing the identity of our early caller- turned on her heel and left the room with a disapproving groan.

Lestrade twisted his cap in his hands, looking worried. "I am afraid it is not pleasant news as usual, Mr. Holmes. A woman contacted us in quite a tizzy first thing this morning- her husband has been murdered in the West Country."

"And you want my assistance, I assume?" Holmes asked.

Hearing the floorboards creak above me, I glanced up to see Johanna standing upon the landing. She was wrapped up in a dressing gown with her arms folded across her chest, pale with worry. It was only then that I realised that a police inspector bursting in announcing a murder was probably not the normal wake-up call for most people.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes," Lestrade said, clearly hoping this remark from my companion could be interpreted as an offer. "I'll admit, we're at quite a loose-end at the moment. He is a wealthy man, so obviously there are many-"he stopped dead, catching sight of Johanna on the landing.

"Oh, yes," Holmes exclaimed, as if he had been planning to introduce his daughter all along and had simply forgotten, "This is our friend Miss Johanna Barton of Bradbury. Johanna, this is Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard."

"Johanna Barton..." Lestrade repeated under his breath, as though trying to remember something before apparently deciding his was mistaken. "Pleased to me you, Miss."

"My pleasure," Johanna replied simply, but did not move from her position upon the landing.

"Can I meet you at the station before noon, then?" Lestrade turned back to Holmes.

"I will endeavour to be there," my friend promised. "You may fill me in on the details during our trip."

Lestrade was shown out and the awkwardness of the situation hit as all full in the face. I can't explain why Holmes thought it appropriate to leave so soon after Johanna had arrived, though it clearly embarrassed me far more than it did him.

"I am sorry for the disturbance, my dear," Holmes apologised, looking up at his daughter. "You may go back retreat back to your room, if you wish."

Johanna looked unimpressed. "I am fine, thank you." It did not take her long to air what we were all thinking. "Are you really going?"

I have to admit, I was also looking at him for an answer.

"I think I shall have to."

Johanna nodded but I could see she was unhappy about it; her eyebrows were pulled closer together in the beginning of a frown. She had every right to be angry, I feel. It must be terrible to come all this way and then have it seem as though your own father did not want your company, especially when he had initiated the idea in the first place. I hoped that, in time, she would eventually realise that a person like Holmes was out of his depth in a situation such as this.

"Since I'm awake, I suppose I will dress then," she announced, turning and retreating to Holmes' bedroom, which was hers for the duration. This obviously wasn't a problem for him, since his appearance signalled he would not be sleeping for that time anyhow.

"You can't seriously I being doing this?" I turned on him. Trust Holmes to have next to no regard for the girl's feelings.

"I see no reason why I would joke about it," he replied calmly. "It will be for two days at the most, we still have plenty of time before Miss Barton goes back to Bradbury."

"And who will look after her for these two days?" I asked, exasperated.

"I had hoped you would," Holmes said, honestly.

"Me?" I was shocked.

"Is there some reason I should not trust you with the young lady, Watson?" He raised an eyebrow as he asked this and I blushed with the very idea of what he was implying.

"Certainly not."

"Well, that's settled then," he responded decidedly. "As soon as Johanna is ready, we shall all have breakfast together; the sooner I get going, the sooner I will get back."

Johanna suggested we accompany Holmes to the train station and, much to my pleasure, he did not refuse her. Hopefully, he was actually feeling some of the guilt that he ought to be. The farewells on the platform were painfully awkward, as no one was really sure of the boundaries of their relationship.

It was strange not to be accompanying my friend on his journey, which made saying goodbye a challenge. A handshake seemed impersonal, considering our bond, so I placed a firm hand upon his shoulder as I wished him luck. Holmes seemed about to extend his hand for Joanna to shake, when she launched forward and held him in a tight embrace. Stunned, he remained motionless for a moment, before eventually raising his hands to pat her gingerly on the back. Not surprisingly, given his standoffish behaviour so far, he and Lestrade boarded almost immediately after.

Johanna did not say a word as we made our way back through the steamy station the main street, nor did she make conversation on the cab ride home. I could not say I blamed her, since she had been all but rejected by the father she had searched so long for (or, at least, that's how it must have seemed.) I got the feeling that even though she had sworn she still considered the Bartons her true parents, Johanna had expected Holmes to welcome her into his life with joyful tears and open arms.

She remained equally as silent for the rest of the day and to say it was unnerving was an understatement. I hadn't the slightest idea what to do with her; even though she seemed happy enough to be left to her own devices, I felt guilty. She ran herself a bath and remained in there for hours reading the morning papers. When she finally emerged-clothed, obviously,- she took to drinking cup after cup of strong, black coffee while she wandered throughout Holmes room, looking at all his possessions. I felt a bit odd, just sitting there, watching her, but she showed no sign of being uncomfortable with my presence. After a long deliberation, she actually picked up his violin a plucked out a tune with it.

Several times I caught myself wishing she would speak. Her voice was lovely- musical, but not in a sing-song way and on the deeper side, yet she did not sound masculine. Occasionally, our eyes would meet and it was as if I was seeing something for the first time, some grand revelation, but even then, she would just offer me a sweet smile and go back to her business. It was as if she longed to converse also, but hadn't the faintest idea of what to ask me. I would have been happy to recite my life story once more, if it had come to that.

As we settled down to eat dinner that night, the verbal drought was eventually broken, though not in the way I had hoped. I almost choked on my cream of mushroom soup when Johanna asked curiously, "Who is the woman in the photograph? The one on Mr. Holmes mantelpiece, I mean." Of course, I knew exactly what she meant.

"Err..." I coughed into my napkin, "Her name was Irene Adler." I quickly decided it was best not to lie to her, since Johanna had already shown she had the skills to find out the fact, should she suspect me of being less than truthful. "Holmes was very fond of her. She was it for him, she was _the _woman." I had never really understood it myself, but it really wasn't any of my business.

"_Was _meaning simply gone, or no longer alive?"

I was startled by her abruptness. Fleetingly, I thought _"but she's pretty enough to get away with it" _and had to stop myself. "No longer alive," I clarified, "She was killed."

"Oh," the lady responded sadly, "That's dreadful. No wonder he keeps a photograph up."

"Why the curiosity, if you don't mind me asking?" She had every right to be wondering about it, she was Holmes' family after all.

"I just wondered who she was. If she had such pride of place, I reasoned that she must have been important and I was right." She smiled but it seemed somewhat forced. I still don't know why but there are several theories that would explain it. It seems most likely that the poor thing had some romantic notion of my friend spending the last eighteen years wondering endlessly about her mother and nursing a broken heart, which was not the case.

I raised a hand to my mouth to stifle a yawn, despite the fact that it was still quite early. "Am I the only one exhausted after all the excitement this morning?" I asked her.

"No," she replied with that famous half-smile of hers, "I am too. I have the feeling my stay is going to be rather eventful." Johanna must have known something I didn't because excluding Lestrade's impromptu arrival this morning, our day shut-up in number 221B had seemed anything but eventful.

"I'm going to retire then," I decided, dropping my napkin onto the table and standing up. "Goodnight."

"An excellent plan," she agreed, standing up herself, "Sleep well, Doctor." She crossed the floor towards Holmes room, where she could now sleep without the guilt of throwing a man out of his own bed (regardless of whether he would have used it or not.)

"John," I told the back of her head, as I watched her walk away. Just as I was mentally kicking myself, she turned back around.

"What did you say?" she inquired, more out of confusion than not having heard.

"John," I repeated softly, "You may call me, John."

"Alright," she said, with a nod of the head, "Goodnight...John."

"And goodnight to you too, Miss Barton."

"Johanna," she responded, with that upturn of the mouth that I was growing so fond of, "Call me Johanna."

"Goodnight, Johanna."

The following morning, I had hardly taken two steps out of my own room when I was accosted by a fierce –looking Mrs. Hudson.

"Doctor, this can't go on any longer," she cried, with her hands planted firmly on her hips.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, utterly confused.

"That girl!" she replied furiously, as though it were obvious. "She's been shut up in this house ever since she arrived, Doctor. Imagine how irritating it must be for her!"

I felt like pointing out that Johanna had seemed perfectly content wandering around the house yesterday but I didn't fancy arguing with Mrs. Hudson, who could be truly scary when she felt the need to be. Although, I had to admit- getting out and about for a bit might be beneficial for her. We were expecting Holmes back tomorrow morning.

"Fine," I relented, waving her off, "I'll ask her, but it's up to her whether she accepts or not."

"Oh, I have a feeling she will," our landlady called over her shoulder as she walked away. Did all the women in this place know something I didn't?

There was really nothing left for me to do then, except go and call on Johanna. As I stood outside her door, or, technically, Holmes door, my heart was beating like mad but, in my expert opinion, it was nothing to be medically concerned about, which was even more worrying. I knocked and she immediately called back.

"Come in!"

I opened the door and there, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing out her long, dark hair, which I had never seen out before. Needless to say, it was visually stunning.

"You like nice this morning," I complimented her.

She shook her head slightly. "I'm not even properly fit to be seen yet. Look at my hair!"

"It looks perfectly alright to me," I shrugged, letting a smile creep across my face.

"Did you have something of importance to say_, John_, or are you just here to tease me?" she asked, eyes narrowed in mock suspicion.

I hadn't meant to offend. "I was complimenting, not teasing, _Johanna_, and actually, I have something to ask you." She gave me a look that said, 'go on' and I continued. "Would you like to go out today? We could get a spot of breakfast at one of the bakeries down the street or a nice teahouse or something and then go to the park?" I offered, "What do you say?" If she replied in the negative, part of me would be crushed.

No pause for thought had ever seemed longer. "It sounds lovely," she said, much to my relief, "Just let me get this hair out of the way." She pulled it all back and tied a ribbon around where her ponytail left her head. "Alright then," she declared brightly, "Let's go."

Walking down the streets of London with someone as beautiful as Johanna Barton would be a dream for any man; her taking in of the city around her was wonderful to watch, as her eyes darted back and forth. If she could make a mental note everything she saw, I seemed it still wouldn't be enough. Where had I seen that before? The two of us drank tea made by a plump, middle-aged woman in a cake shop where we were the only customers. She pushed pastries on us for half an hour before we finally accepted and Johanna convinced her to wrap them in paper so we could have a picnic in the park. There was a bit of a quarrel about who would pay, with her insisting that she had money from her father to spend while she was away and me trying to act the gentleman. Eventually, she relented and allowed me to cover the charges but insisted she would buy me a present before she left and that we would all go out to dinner one evening when Holmes got back.

The park was still a little damp from the rain that had proclaimed Johanna's arrival the day before. It marred our chances of having a proper picnic, since we hadn't thought to bring a blanket, but a bench would do. A group of local children were playing a make-shift cricket game in front of us and we applauded any spectacular hits while we ate.

"I am glad you agreed to come today," I admitted to her between bites, "I would have felt positively wicked keeping you locked up in the house for another day."

She chuckled, looking at me as though I were being stupid. "Men have done worse things, believe me."

It was such an odd thing to say that I decided not to question it. However, there was one thing I could help myself from asking and that was to get her opinion on Holmes so far. Things had not been ideal, for sure, but it needed to be asked.

"I'm not sure what to think," she admitted, not meeting my eyes. "Have i done something wrong, Doctor?" Despite trying to hold herself together, I think she was getting quite distraught. "If I am, please tell me!"

I shook my head in dismay. "It is no fault of your own." I took her trembling hands in my own. "He is an odd man, by anyone's account and does not adapt to people well." I could not help but chuckle. '"He was exactly the same when I first met him."

Tears still masked her eyes but I saw them brighten, "Really?"

"Yes," I sighed. "You just have to understand that his work is important, it's what drives him." I raised her porcelain face with the backs of my fingers from my closed fist. "Honestly, this is the best I've seen him take to anyone in years. He had that whole conversation with you the other day for crying out loud! Just give it time," I said, "I promise."

"I think you're just trying to be kind to me," she accused, not breaking eye-contact.

"I'm really not," I defended myself, "But, then again, who wouldn't love you?" Had I really just said that? For what seemed the longest time, nobody said anything at all. The time seemed to have stopped passing around us.

"Oh look!" she cried, suddenly, pointing to the lake across the lawn, "Ducks." She hastily moved her face out of my reach, picked up the rest of her breakfast and made off towards the billed creatures. Obviously, I had scared her and I felt terrible, yet there was a part of me that did not regret it. For a while I just let her go, I felt I owed her that much. I watched her methodically pull her food into small pieces and throw them to the birds for as long as I could before the need to approach her overwhelmed me. I walked up and stood level with her, staring out over the water.

"You like ducks?"

"Love them. I have some at home."

I realised I had to apologise, even if I had meant every word. "I'm sorry if I scared you."

"It wasn't so much being scared as being surprised" she explained, still tearing off pieces and still not meeting my eyes. "You know what I am and you would still say something so nice."

"I don't know what you mean..." I admitted, puzzled. "What are you?"

"You know..."she said in a whisper, "A bastard."

She shut her eyes, as though in pain. "My whole life I've known I needed to get married, even if I've had no desire to until recently. The only other option would mean being out of a home once my father died and no one being able to take in and support my mother, should she outlive him. I am not ashamed about the truth of my origin because I love my sister and Mr. Holmes is so talented a man to be descended from but right away, I knew no one besides him, you and I could ever know; even the person I would eventually marry. If the truth got out, it would destroy my father, it would destroy everything." The ghost of a smile played upon her lips. "I thought any man who found out would run rather than risk his reputation."

I took her hand once more, in an act of comfort. "You're too beautiful for such a word," I said, honestly.

"There you go again," she jokingly chastised me, her half smile back; "I bet you are as nice as this to all the daughters of richer country doctors you meet."

"I'm not." Technically, this was true, since I had never spent so much time with another. "We should really be getting back; Mrs. Hudson is probably looking for us." Our hands were still fused together.

"You go," she said, relinquishing her grip. "I still need to buy you that present, if you recall?"

"I do," I said, "But will your father approve of you walking the streets by yourself?"

"My father will never know," she dismissed it. "Besides, I've had a fair bit of fighting practice in my time, should I be accosted."

"Fighting?" I repeated, flabbergasted, "Against who?"

"You will remember my uncle has all sons, no?" she asked. "He has seven of them and I had to spend three weeks every summer with them growing up."

"Is there anything else I should know about the mysterious Johanna Barton?" I questioned with mock suspicion.

"No," she shook her head decidedly, "Not right now, anyway."

I went home, as I had said I would. I had not been in for long though, when it began to rain. Johanna hadn't had an umbrella with her and I was anxious for her to get back, lest she should catch cold while I was supposed to be looking after her. When she eventually bustled back in, however, she was bone dry.

"How did you manage to avoid the rain?" I asked, stunned.

"Do you know," she began, placing her parcels down on the dining table and sounding equally as stunned, "It was the oddest thing! I met a gentleman in the shop I was in and he said he knew my mother."

"Your _mother?"_ I repeated, confused, "As in, Mrs. Barton?"

I could see by the look on Johanna's face that she was equally as clueless. "I suppose that is what he must have meant," she said, getting quite animated now, "Because no one knows about Catherine and me."

"What did he say?" I asked, feeling I had a right to question it.

"Not much," she frowned, "If I explain it, it's going to ruin the surprise!" She stared at her parcels for a bit, before obviously deciding the story was more important. "I was buying coffee, because I felt bad for drinking so much while I've been here. "

I laughed and her eyes narrowed. "Sorry," I apologised hastily.

"Did you still want it, if it's so funny?" she asked incredulously.

"Of course," I backpedalled, "Of course."

She tossed me the package. "It's Indian, apparently. He saw me looking at it and recommended it to me. He asked my name, I introduced myself and that's when he claimed he knew my mother." She sighed, "I didn't question it at the time but perhaps I should have. I said I really should be getting back to my aunt's house where I was staying and he offered me a ride home. Of course, I refused because nobody can know my true lodgings but he insisted he buy me an umbrella."

At the end of her story, she shuddered. "What's the matter?" I reached out to her, concerned.

"Everything he said was so pleasant but there was something off about him. He scared me," she said seriously.

"It will be alright," I assured her, with an affectionate pat on the shoulder. In reality, I could not be so sure. Johanna had proved herself to be such a strong and level-headed young woman so far and the fact that she was so frightened by this individual was worrying. I did not think he would have followed her here but there was no way to be sure.

"But just to be safe," I suggested, "I can make you a makeshift bed in here this evening and, if you are comfortable with it, I can sit watch."

'"Is it really that serious?"

"Probably not," I admitted, "But I have learnt that people work in mysterious ways and I would feel as though I were letting Holmes down if I did not make this offer."

She nodded in acceptance, "Alright."

"Thank you for the coffee, by the way," I added, holding it up, "I'm sure we'll enjoy it."

"That's not your only present!" she laughed, "Here." She revealed a bottle of premium whiskey, which I reached out and took from her.

"How much did this cost?" I exclaimed, scanning the label.

"Oh, it was nothing," the lady assured me, "I still have enough to take the two of you somewhere in the next few days, so there's no harm done."

"I might just open this," I decided happily, walking to the cabinet in the corner to fetch myself a glass. "Do you drink?" I asked curiously, intending to get her a glass of her own.

"Very little," she said, "But I suppose I can join you." Her dress trailed across the floor as she came to sit in the armchair across from my own.

Returning, I handed her a glass and set the bottle down on the coffee table between us. "Should we raise a toast?"

"To what?" she asked, those eager eyes on hers back on me once more.

"To new friends," I suggested, raising my glass. She agreed, clinking her own against mine.

It soon became apparent that Johanna had either lied about being a serious drinker or had inherited Holmes' ability to remain immune to the stuff. It was probably quite irresponsible of me, given the circumstances of why we were sharing the room at all but there was, and still is, something about Johanna Barton that invites trouble. We had toasts to just about everything: her, me, Holmes, Mrs. Hudson, Gladstone, the ducks in the park, the tea lady, London, Bradbury, England and the Commonwealth, as well as Lord knows what else. I had trouble keeping up with her, that much was certain. We then tried to play poker but, I recall getting so excited about any good hands I received that I had to show Johanna immediately so she won each and every time.

Eventually, after arguing about who was too drunk and who needed to go to bed, we both decided to retire. Her- to the two armchair pushed together and me- to a pile of blankets on the floor, as per our earlier.

"Aren't you going to bid me goodnight?" she asked teasingly, leaning over the side of the chair.

I crawled across the space between us and looked up her, gaining a wild life from her. "Goodnight, Johanna." Our faces were only inches apart and my head was spinning. Out of nowhere, I fleetingly remembered something she had said in the park that morning. "Johanna," I asked, frowning, "what did you mean today when you said you had no desire to get married until recently?"

With that, she sunk back down into the refuge of her armchairs and I could no longer see her. "Goodnight, John," she said, dropping a hand over the arm rest to pat me on the head then falling silent.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Stuff just got real! What do you guys think of Johanna/Watson? Holmes will be back next chapter though, before anyone does anything they will *cough cough* regret. ****Also, do you think the murder Holmes is investigating is important? Who was the man in the shop? Let me know how you're interpreting it so far. **

**Thanks guys, **

**Taylor. **


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